


bowties

by inspiredissue



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, No shipping, Rip sally, Trans!Fundy, all my homies miss sally, anyways goodnight, based on a tiktok i saw, dad!wilbur is trying his hardest, def not projecting haha lol lol def not, fundy is fifteen, i actually proofread this wow, tw for dysphoria, wilbur is accepting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29708097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiredissue/pseuds/inspiredissue
Summary: fundy has always looked in the mirror and seen someone that is not him. the girl that looked back is so similar yet so different. she looks like his mother, not him.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 63





	bowties

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is a trigger warning for dysphoria! it’s described kind of in depth so if that bothers you, i recommend not reading :)

For as long as Fundy can remember, he’s always looked in the mirror and seen someone who is not himself. The girl that stares back at him, with her long, curly hair and full chest is not Fundy. No, Fundy looks similar yet entirely different. He isn’t sure what that entails, but it is not this.

He is also not the “she” his father and once his mother call him by. Fundy is not their “baby girl” or their “daughter”. He is their son and that is all there is to it. 

Fundy cannot stand it, the way people who are supposed to know him best don’t. It’s been three years now. Three years of Fundy knowing he’s not how people see him.

God, people percieve him like this. Like a... girl. 

The thought sends an arrow of dread into Fundy’s heart. It almost physically hurts. 

Fundy glances in a mirror, addressing his hair. He stares at it a while, imagining the relief cutting it off would bring. He sighs. Patience, Fundy. Your time will come. 

“Fundy!” A voice calls. “C’mere, kiddo!” 

Fundy takes a deep breath, preparing for the show he was about to perform. Even just for his father. 

“I have this for you.” Fundy’s father says when he arrives. In Wilbur’s hands is a bright red bow, made of silk. “It was your mom’s. You look so similar to her. She’d want to have it.” Wilbur smiles at his son who he thinks is his daughter, and then clips the bow into Fundy’s hair. “Thanks.” Fundy tries. He really does. It doesn’t matter that seeing the bow clipped into his fringe makes his body itch, it’s for his dad. The father who had a child too young and lost his wife too soon. 

“Of course.”

Something in the smile Fundy gives is tired, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Maybe his dad won’t notice. He prays he doesn’t. 

A half hour finds Fundy still standing in the bathroom, staring at the reflection that is not him and the bow in the hair he hates claiming. It’s bright and red and brings back too many memories for it to be a simple silk thing. Fundy remembers his mother wearing it often, her voice echoing throughout the house when she would sing. Sometimes his father would join and they’d sing some cheesy, romantic duet. Fundy used to hate it, he thought it was annoying. But he’d give anything to see his dad that happy again. Anything to see his mother. 

Fundy’s eyes trail from the mirror to the sink below it. A pair of scissors sits on the edge, some of his father’s cut hair left over in the sink. A thought crosses Fundy’s mind. It’s risky and something he would have to commit to, something he can’t hide with a hat. But the way the red curls burn every spot they touched on his shoulders is overwhelming. He can’t take it.

The scissors make a sharp noise when they cut. 

It takes half an hour for the sink to fill with discarded pieces of flame. Fundy stares down at them, enjoying the newfound lightness of his shoulders and his head. No longer was he being relentlessly pulled down and down. 

The cut wasn’t the best and the sides were two different lengths, but it didn’t matter at that moment. All that mattered is that when Fundy looked into the mirror, he saw... not himself, but someone closer. Someone better. 

“Fundy, are you alright?” Wilbur’s voice says from outside the door. Fundy’s heart leaps and he watches in panic as the doorknob turns. “You’ve been in there for so long—.”

Wilbur pauses in the doorway to take in the scene before him. Hair in the cracked sink, the same color as his wife’s. His son, finally looking like his son, staring at him, wide-eyed and clutching a pair of scissors. A choppy haircut. 

“Dad.” He breathes. And then the panicked rambling. “I’m— I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, I just had to. I should have asked. I’m so—.”

“Fundy.” Wilbur’s voice is quiet and gentle and nothing like his son’s expectations. “Fundy, oh my God. Come here.” 

Fundy accepts the hug and clutches his father as he feels tears lump in his throat. The scissors clatter to the floor, forgotten and released from Fundy’s distressed hands. 

The two stand there, and they probably look ridiculous- an exhausted father hugging his son with choppy hair and a sink full of the scraps. Honestly, this isn’t the exact way Fundy planned on coming out, but it’s how it happened, and it’s perfect. 

When the pair seperate, Wilbur’s hands rest on his son’s shoulders and he properly takes in his child. A scared 15-year-old, trying his hardest to be good while his body fights him relentlessly. It hurt, Wilbur realizes. It hurts him to realize his son has been living this way his entire life, and Wilbur had allowed it. 

The bow lays discarded on the floor. It had fallen sometime during the haircut. Slowly Wilbur bends down and plucks it, dusting the stray hairs off. He looks at it, admiring it and the bittersweet things he’s associated it with. Then, he looks back up at his son. So different from Sally, yet so similar. He has the same eyes, the same hair, the same faint freckles and the same crooked teeth. The silk feels both heavy and light in his palm. Gently, Wilbur clips the bow to the collar of Fundy’s shirt. 

“There.” He says. “It can be a bowtie.” 

Fundy looks at him, then in the mirror at himself. His heart flashes with recognition and joy. Maybe he isn’t fully himself, but that’s okay. He knows it would take time. All that matters is that his father is willing to help him and he knew his mother would have been, too.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! sorry if i made you cry,, uh, good night


End file.
